Brother Issues
by OwlinAMinor
Summary: Your name is Dave Strider, and you are in love with your brother, but too cool to admit it. Christmas present for Maddie (flyingsaucerscout). Stridercest.


**Title: Brother Issues**

**Pairing: Stridercest**

**Genre: Romance & Humor**

**Summary: Your name is Dave Strider, and you are in love with your brother, but too cool to admit it. Christmas present for Maddie (_flyingsaucerscout)._**

**Length: oneshot**

**Dissing of the Claims: I AM NOT ANDREW HUSSIE.**

**A/N: The fifth**** Christmas present fanfic I'm posting. (I wrote all of my friends these fanfics for Christmas because I'm broke.) I was a bit nervous about how this one came out, because I'm not that far into Homestuck (I'm halfway through act two, ish) and my only real basis for writing Stridercest was reading a few halfway decent fics and looking through some fanart beforehand. But apparently I have some sort of weird talent for writing pairings really well even though I don't know them well at all (this happened with Superhusbands and Destiel, too), because Maddie said I did a pretty good job, so, long story short, this is being posted. Yay.**

* * *

Your name is Dave Strider, and you are in love with your brother, but too cool to admit it.

You know that many people would consider it weird, unholy, or just plain wrong, but it's true. You aren't sure when you started noticing how nice his ass looked when he ambled around the house in just boxers and a t-shirt; you aren't sure when you started daydreaming about what could happen if your feelings were reciprocated; you aren't sure when you started wondering what he'd do if you kissed him; but all of those things happen, and there's honestly nothing you can do about it.

It's his fault, really – with those ironic, unfairly sexy sunglasses he wears, and the way he smirks at you when he's planning something hilarious, and the jagged, fascinating lines of his hair that you just itch to pull. It's his fault you sit next to him on the couch, watching TV, and wish he could move a little closer. It's his fault you catch a glimpse of him partially naked before a shower, and find yourself needing a shower of your own. It's his fault you can't bring yourself to flirt with any of the girls (or guys) at your school.

And it's your fault that you don't do anything about it.

You are too cool, you tell yourself. You are the funny guy, the sarcastic guy, the cool guy, the guy who sends his friends the weirdest birthday presents as a joke – you aren't the sad guy, the depressed guy, the lonely guy, the guy who pines after his brother.

So, you bear it. You avoid him a little more, pretend to find him a little more annoying than you actually do, leave the house before he wakes up, eat dinner at a different time – do anything you can to try to give this addiction a push out the door before it makes you do something you know you'll regret. Unfortunately, none of those things help. The few times you see him become even more precious, and your daydreams become even more vivid. He has a few girlfriends, easily forgettable girls that he brings over a couple of times, then dumps, and you imagine spiking them through with an extremely sharp pencil (you don't have any spears around, so you figure it would be better to make the killing method something you can actually manage.)

And then, one day, you decide that enough is enough. You realize that you've been living like a fugitive in your own home, so scared of him finding out that you've been ignoring so many other things, like your actual relationship with him, and the fact that you need to beat him at some video games or your ego will shrivel up and die, and petty things like homework. You've been so focused on not letting him know, and trying to forget yourself, that you've never found out what his feelings are.

He probably doesn't feel the same way (why would he – you're his _brother_, after all) but you have to try. Maybe it'll be easier for you to let go, knowing you've tried and failed, or so you tell yourself.

So, you concoct a brilliant plan to discern his position on the subject without giving up yours, and, telling no one, begin to instigate it.

Step one is letting him know that incest is actually okay. You bring up news stories in casual conversation (some real, some made up), you plant pamphlets around the house, and you ask him to proofread a (fake) paper you wrote for your debate class about why incest is wincest.

Step two is re-making your good relationship with him. You two have always been best friends, even when you were arguing, and avoiding him, as you have been doing, won't exactly help that. So, you start coordinating your schedule with his again, offering to play video games, watch TV together, and so on.

Step three is waiting until he's broken up with his latest girlfriend – you may hate them, but you have some respect, and you won't help him cheat.

Step four is a small experiment: pretending to fall asleep on his shoulder one night, and seeing what he does. What he does, as it turns out, is let you sleep there for a bit, then gently, softly carry you upstairs to bed, and plant a light kiss on your forehead before tiptoeing out. But is this brotherly love or more? You can't tell.

And finally, the all-important step five is asking a question that will change your life: "Hey, Dirk, what do you think it'd be like if we kissed? Ironically, of course," you add, so that he knows you don't mean it. Well, you do, but … He doesn't need to know that.

He stares at you for a moment, ignoring the TV show you're both watching, and you wish you could tell what he's thinking. His eyes show no expression behind his dark sunglasses. "I dunno," he says at last with a shrug. "What do you think it'd be like?"

You have prepared for this question, and answer with all of the class and general suave-ness of the greatest masters of flirting. "Um, uh, er … Interesting."

He seems to consider the idea for another half a minute or so, then replies, "Yeah, it might be. Okay, sure, why not?"

… Wow. That was easier than you expected.

You aren't one to be wary of good luck, though, so you nod, and then awkwardly move a little closer to him on the couch.

He awkwardly moves a little closer to you, so that your legs are almost touching. You can feel the heat from the space between them radiating, as though if they actually touch, something will explode.

This is the point at which your planning ends. You have no idea what to do.

Luckily, he saves you from potential panic by leaning in and closing the distance between your mouths for a couple of seconds, kissing you so quickly you barely realize it's happening until it's over.

"So?" he asks, pulling away. "How was that?"

You shrug, and, in the bravest moment of your life, answer, "I don't know, it wasn't long enough for me to formulate an opinion."

"Understandable," he says.

And, just like that, he leans in again – and kisses you longer this time, still chaste, but with more feeling. You lean into the kiss, wishing you could stay in this moment forever, enjoying the feeling of his lips on yours that will haunt you forever if you fail – because there's little chance of you being able to let go after failing, once you've tasted this.

After much too short a time, he pulls away and sort-of stares at you, as though trying to gauge your reaction – although you can't really tell, because of his glasses.

"So?" he repeats, his voice a little huskier this time.

"That was …" you struggle for a word that's accurate, but not weird enough to turn him off. "Definitely interesting."

He sighs, looking a little wounded. "Interesting? That's what you'd call it? I thought I was a better kisser than that."

"Okay, maybe better than interesting," you admit. "What would _you_ call it?"

There's this moment of silence, during which you feel as though my fate is being decided, in the mind of my weird, funny, amazing brother – as though this experiment was less of a test for you to find out what he felt, and more of a test for him to find out what you felt.

It's probably only a few seconds, but you swear it felt like hours before he takes of his sunglasses, reached forward and, with a smooth, swift motion, takes off yours, too – so that we can see each other's eyes.

"I would call it something I want more of," he says simply, and then he's crashing his lips to yours, practically attacking you with all of the passion and longing that, well, you've been holing up ever since you realized you were in love with him.

You reciprocate as best you can, grabbing the hair you've wanted to play with for so long and entwining your fingers in it, and moving your tongue in tandem with his when he licks his way into your mouth – but it's kind-of a challenge, because he honestly is such a great kisser, and you won't be able to think coherently at all for much longer.

And suddenly it strikes you that this is your _brother_ you are making out with – your _brother_, with whom you've played and fought and learned since you were born – and this is too right and too wrong at the same time, what are you even doing, what –

You stop suddenly. "We shouldn't be doing this," you say.

Your brother rolls his eyes. "You're the one who's been dropping incest-is-wincest hints for the past two weeks, Dave. God. If you're going to have an opinion, stick to it."

He's such a jerk, honestly, but he's right, and he's your jerk, and somehow that makes it okay.

"Yeah, sorry," you apologize. "Can we get back to the kissing thing? That was nice."

And as he laughs and pulls you down on top of him on the couch, it occurs to you why he's never been able to hold a girlfriend for very long.

And as you continue to discover the many ways you love your brother on that couch, it comes out that he's felt the same way as you have, perhaps longer than you have, and your making a move was honestly the best thing that could ever have happened to him, because you are much braver than he is.

Because you're brothers, you can't go on dates the way normal people do. You can't hold hands in the park, or kiss in the back of the bleachers during a football game (which you never go to, but still), or share an order of spaghetti at an Italian café – you look too similar, and it won't be long before someone starts getting weirded out. Instead, you have to restrict your public displays of affection to yourselves, at home, alone on the couch, or on one of your beds. The major problem in your life becomes that Dirk minds this much more than you do, but you work it out, and you become closer than you've ever been before.

Your video game battles become less of video game battles and more of video-game-quickly-morphed-into-competitive-sex battles, though …

Your name is Dave Strider, and you are in love with your brother, and it's okay, because he loves you back.


End file.
